


Night Terrors

by DarthAbby



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Character, Past Sexual Assault, Self-Insert, Spidey is very generalized in this. Picture whichever Peter you prefer., discussions of assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-15 05:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17522654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAbby/pseuds/DarthAbby
Summary: Sometimes, you just need to talk it out.Spider-Man can't just punch every threat, but he'll always find a way to help.





	1. Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

> [2019 is the year for no shame](http://butim-justharry.tumblr.com/post/181838594978/2019-is-definitely-a-year-for-no-shame-because-i), aka when we finally realize that self-insert fics are harmless and actually a pretty good coping method

New York City was never quiet, but it got pretty close in the small hours before dawn. And since it was a Friday (or, at least, it had been Friday when he had left his own apartment) and he was off work on Saturday, Peter felt comfortable staying out all night without having to worry about falling asleep in the middle of his next shift. 

He was taking a break on the fire escape of some random building, leaning against the wall and checking his phone, when the window next to him suddenly opened and a person who looked to be in their early twenties, about the same as Peter, leaned out, shakily pulling in gasps of air.

“Uh,” he said, very eloquently. “You okay?”

The person jumped, nearly hitting their head on the window, and turned to look at him. “Spider-Man?”

“Hi.” He waved and smiled beneath his mask.

They blinked, shivered a little in the chill night air. “Are you actually here, or am I still hallucinating?”

“Actually here, as far as I know,” Peter said, reaching his hand towards the person. They carefully shook hands with him, and a relieved smile crossed their face.

“Oh, thank god,” they sighed. “I dunno what I'd do if my hallucinations got  _ that _ realistic.” They shivered again.

“Maybe you should get back inside,” he said, concern obvious in his voice. “Or at least put on a sweater.”

They shook their head. “I'm fine, I just… need some air.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

They laughed, a little coarsely. “Thought you saved people from bad guys, not themselves.”

“I'm a man of many talents,” he shrugged. “I can do my best at both.”

That finally made a smile flicker across their face. “You, uh, you wanna come in? My room isn't anything special, but it's probably more comfortable than a brick wall.”

They moved back from the window, giving him room to slip inside, which he did with ease. Aside from one framed painting that he couldn't make out in the dim light, there weren't really any personal touches in the room, which seemed sad and a little lonely.

“I, uh, I'm Abby, by the way,” they said suddenly.

“Nice to meet you, Abby,” he said, pulling up his mask to his nose so that they could see him smile. “I'm Spider-Man.”

“Nice to meet you, Spidey,” they said, giving him a tiny smile in return. “Make, uh, make yourself comfortable, I guess.” They sat down on the end of their bed, automatically pulling the quilt up and over their shoulders. Peter stuck his feet to the opposite wall and sat back on his heels, intent on giving Abby enough room to breathe.

“So, what's going on?” he asked, not unkindly.

“...night terrors,” they admitted, pulling the quilt a little tighter around their shoulders.

“And sleep paralysis?” he guessed, remembering what they had said about hallucinations.

“A little bit? But it's not that I  _ can't _ move, it's that I don't want to.” They shook their head. “When I get scared, I just… freeze.”

Peter frowned sympathetically. “And that makes you feel worse, right?”

“Yeah,” they sighed, voice cracking a little. “Because, even when it's just a dream, I know I should  _ want _ to run, but I just  _ don't _ . And the one tonight… I should have wanted to scream, at the very least, but I just  _ fucking _ froze.”

“Do you mind telling me about the one tonight?” he asked. “I'm a firm believer that talking about dreams makes them less bad.” It had certainly always worked for him. From childhood nightmares that sent him running for his aunt and uncle, to reliving his worst moments as Spider-Man and calling whichever friend who might be awake (regardless of if they knew or not - he could omit the super details if need be), talking had always helped him calm down after a bad night.

Abby hesitated before nodding. “It was… it was nice, at first. I was back in my hometown with my mom and my dog, and we were walking around my grandparents’ old neighborhood. But then I was in my childhood bedroom, only it was sort of… overlaid on top of this room?” They shook their head. “I don't know, it's hard to explain. But I was in both places at once, and there was a big, shadowy man standing at the foot of my bed, just  _ staring _ at me. And then… god, it sounds so dumb,” they sighed, running a hand through their short hair. “But then he, like, yelled? Like sort of a 'bah!’ or something. Like he was trying to scare me awake. But I was just frozen, like I said, so I didn't move and then he ran out of the room, right through the closed door. I'm not sure how long it took, but once I was able to move again, I got up and opened the window.”

Peter nodded - he knew the rest of the story from there. “Sounds intense.”

“I - what?”

“Sounds intense,” he repeated.

“ _ Intense _ ?” Abby's eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Don't you fight super villains on a regular basis?”

“Sure,” Peter shrugged. “But that's a situation with a clear solution. I can punch a bad guy, web up all the cronies, give the police the address of the hideout. You can't punch a dream, though. And your dream was about an unknown, threatening person breaking into your home twice over. That's some scary stuff, no matter who you are.” He tilted his head to the side. “You said the man in your dream ran out of your bedroom. Do you want me to check the rest of your apartment?”

“You… you'd do that?”

“If you want me to.” Some fears are soul-deep. And even though Abby was aware it had only been a dream, he could see that they were still shaken by the thought of an intruder in their home, hiding just out of sight.

Abby hesitated another moment before giving a tiny nod. “If you don't mind,” they said quietly. “Uh, my roommate is the second door down, and probably still asleep.”

“I'll be very quiet,” he promised before stepping out of the room.

The apartment was small - besides the two bedrooms, separated by a tiny bathroom, there was only a little kitchenette, separated from the living room by a short counter. One of the two roommates must have made dinner the night before, as a skillet was soaking in soapy water in the sink, and the scent of garlic and spices lingered in the air, making Peter's mouth water a little.

The living room itself was only just big enough for a worn-out couch, a cheap coffee table, and a second-hand TV. There was no one there, not that Peter had expected to find anyone. But he knew it would greatly ease Abby's mind to confirm that fact.

“All clear,” he said, closing their bedroom door behind him as he returned. “It smells  _ awesome  _ out there, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Abby said, letting out a deep breath before smiling a little. “Garlic?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Made me a little hungry, actually.”

“Aglio e olio,” they said. “It's my dad's recipe. Heavy garlic, lots of parmesan cheese on top.”

Peter's stomach actually growled a little at the description, and he blushed, thankful for the dim light.

There was enough light to see Abby's smile grow, though. “Do you want some to take with you? I made a ton, so there's leftovers in the fridge.”

“Whoa, really?” He wasn't one to cook, being so busy all the time. Between patrols, work, and college, he often felt like he barely had enough time to even breathe.

“Yeah,” they said, standing up. “Least I can do. C'mon.”

This time, Abby led the way out of their room and into the kitchenette. Opening up the fridge revealed three Tupperware containers right at the front, full of spaghetti noodles in some sort of oil-based sauce. Abby grabbed one, making sure the lid was fully closed before passing it to Peter.

“Just pop that in the microwave for about two minutes, stir it up, and then another minute in the microwave,” they instructed. “It's not bad cold, according to my dad, but I think it's too slimy that way.”

“Noted,” Peter said, holding the container securely, unable to keep from smiling at the thought of a proper home cooked meal for the first time in at least three weeks. “Thank you so much, Abby.”

“No,” they shook their head. “Thank  _ you _ , Spider-Man. I can't even begin to tell you how much you did for me tonight. This morning?” They glanced at the clock on the oven and grimaced. “This morning. Ugh, I gotta be at work in like four hours.”

“I'll let you get back to bed, then,” he said. “I hope you sleep a bit easier.”

“You know, I think I actually will.”

Peter left back through Abby's window, Tupperware container hanging from a little webbed bag at his hip as he swung off.

He'd never been more thankful for the quiet hours before dawn in New York, which had allowed him to stop and help someone he hadn't even known was in need.


	2. Night Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is now officially my self-indulgent bullshit fic! No one cares but it makes _me_ feel better damnit

“So, you come here often?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I, uh, I'm not, like, stalking you, I promise.”

Abby crossed their arms, but smiled. “You sure?”

He laughed a little and held out an empty Tupperware container. “Just returning this, don't worry.”

“Oh!” They seemed legitimately surprised by the gesture. “Thanks, uh… this might sound weird, but I've never gotten my Tupperware back before when I've given people food.”

“Maybe everyone else is just dicks.”

They snorted and took the empty container. “An astute observation, considering you've probably never met my ex before. Come on in, Spidey. No use warming up the fire escape.”

Peter climbed in through Abby's bedroom window as they went to put the container away in the kitchen. When they came back, they found Spider-Man studying the abstract painting above their bed. It was visible this time, as their reading light was on, unlike during Spidey's previous visit, two days earlier.

“It was a gift.”

“It's… nice?” he tried. “Sorry, I don't know much about painting and stuff.” Peter was quite a good photographer, if he did say so himself, but painting… not so much.

“It's fine, I don't really, either,” Abby shrugged, coming to stand next to him and look at the painting. “My friend was an art major, told me I could have it after it didn't sell at a campus-owned gallery.” They squinted at the mess of colors - mostly reds, pinks, and oranges, but a few vibrant streaks of lime green added a nice contrast. “They named it after me, so I guess it's supposed to be representative of my person, but I'm not sure.”

“That's why your friend gave it to you? Because it's named after you?”

They shrugged. “Basically. I figured, might as well, right? My old posters are still somewhere in my parents’ attic, never dug them out after the last move, so a painting I don't quite understand is better than bare walls.” Abby turned away from the painting to face Spidey. “Look, no offence, but like… what are you doing here?”

“Returning your Tupperware. The pasta was  _ awesome _ , by the way.”

“I'm glad you liked it,” they smiled briefly. “But, really. I'm just one person, and I'm not in danger, and Tupperware is pretty cheap. Why'd you come back?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess it's just nice to talk to someone who isn't bleeding, or yelling, or generally freaking out.” Spider-Man did a lot of good for the city, but general conversation was hard to come by in the mask once the sun went down. The civilians he saved from muggers were usually too shaken up for chit-chat. “And, I dunno, I just wanted to check up on you.”

They smiled again, much more relaxed this time. “Well, I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to drop in. I've been okay - no more shadow men at the foot of my bed. Still not sleeping great, but that's nothing new.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Uh, the part about the night terrors, I mean. Not the insomnia.”

“I figured.” They swayed on the spot, bumping gently into his shoulder. “Jeeze, I know you're  _ literally _ a superhero, but you have, like, no squish to you at  _ all _ , dude. It's weird.”

“Stopping crime is great exercise,” he laughed. “And swinging around the city burns an insane amount of calories.”

“Oh, so you  _ inhaled _ the pasta,” they shook their head with a smile. “Okay, I get it now. You came back hoping for more food.”

“...well, not  _ intentionally _ , but if you have some you'd be willing to part with…”

Abby laughed. “Wait here, Spidey. I've got just the thing.”

Peter waited, rocking back and forth on his heels as Abby went back to the little kitchen area. There wasn't much to look at in their room besides the painting and a bookshelf, which seemed to hold an inordinate amount of literature anthologies.

When Abby returned, this time they found him staring intently at their bookshelf. “If you want to borrow one, you can just ask.”

“I'm more of a science guy,” he said. “Actually, I'm just trying to figure out your organizational system.”

They walked up next to him and pointed at the first book on the far left of the top shelf, moving to the right and down as they spoke. “Freshman year… sophomore… junior… senior… super senior… poetry books I sort of stole from that one internship.”

“What?”

“Don't worry about it,” they waved him off and held up the Tupperware container. “Do you like enchiladas?”

“Yes. I am probably the  _ least _ picky person you know,” he said, immediately focusing on the multiple tortillas he could see were squeezed into the container, and smothered in some sort of sauce.

“I'll hold you to that,” they grinned. “Chicken enchiladas made with hot salsa.”  _ Hell  _ yes. “Spread them out on a plate and microwave for about two minutes. I recommend getting some tortilla chips for the extra sauce.”

“You're my new favorite person,” he said seriously, taking the container like it was worth its weight in gold.

Abby rolled their eyes, but smiled widely. “I usually cook on Fridays, Sundays, and Wednesdays. You know, if you want to stop by again some time.”

“If this is as good as the algi - uh - algae - wait -”

“Aglio e olio?”

“Yes. That amazing pasta. If this is as good as that, I will  _ definitely _ stop by again.”

They laughed. “Nice to know I'm good at something.”

Peter's smile dropped instantly. “You're a  _ great _ cook, Abby, and I'm sure you're really good at other stuff - what was your major in college?”

“English…?”

“And I bet you're great at that! Words, grammar, puns - I love a good pun, you know.”

“I know,” they snorted. “There's a dedicated Twitter account just for all the puns people overhear you using during fights.”

“And whoever runs that account is my second favorite person,” he nodded seriously. “But I'm sure you're good at so many things -”

“Calm down, bud,” Abby said gently, holding up a hand. “I know, don't worry. Self-deprecating humor is just my old stand-by. You're a Millennial/Gen Z border kid, too, you get it.”

“How do you -”

“There's a video of you throwing a garbage can at the Shocker while yelling 'yeet,’ and about a dozen more of you quoting Spongebob mid-fight, of fucking  _ course _ you're about the same age as me.”

Well… fair enough.

Sirens sounded in the distance and Peter automatically turned in the direction of the window. He stopped and looked down at the container in his hands. “Uh…”

“Go save the city, Spider-Man,” Abby said, stepping up and taking the container from him. “I can hold onto this for a couple more hours.”

“Thanks,” he grinned. “See you later!”

“See you,” she called as he hopped out of the window.

Several hours later, Peter landed back on the fire escape, feeling drained. He perked up a bit when he saw that Abby’s window was cracked open, the container of enchiladas waiting for him on the inside sill.

Peter carefully opened the window enough to get the container, then slid it shut again. He thought for a moment before webbing the bottom. He couldn’t lock the window from the outside, but he also didn’t want to leave Abby vulnerable, either. The webbing would dissolve by the time they woke up in the morning and could lock the window themself.

He headed back to his own apartment, weighing the pros and cons of eating the enchiladas immediately, or passing out for a few hours.


	3. Night to Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiders have feelings too

He was running so late that it wasn't worth it to actually run anymore. 

Peter pulled out his phone to check the time again and sighed.  _ Fuck it. _ Even if he sprinted, he would only catch the last 15 minutes of class. Definitely not worth it.

Well, that gave him plenty of time before his next class, at least. He looked up from his phone with a sigh.

A used bookstore across the street was advertising a 20% off sale on all hobby books. Hm - maybe he could find something for Aunt May there? Her birthday was in about a month, and it would be nice not to be scrambling for another last-minute gift,  _ again. _

The shop was both tiny and quiet. He thought he was completely alone when he first walked in and found the checkout desk unmanned.

An electronic bell chimed, though, and a voice called out, “I'll be right with you!”

He spent about four seconds wondering why the voice sounded familiar before the employee walked out from behind a bookcase.

Abby.

“Hi,” they said, smiling brightly. “How can I help you?”

“Help?” he said blankly, blinking at them. “Oh, I'm here to look at the hobby books?”

They nodded. “Right this way.”

Abby led him back, deeper into the tiny labyrinth, before stopping in front of a section of shelves. “Okay, so we've got a little bit of almost everything here. Do you want to just browse or are you looking for something specific?”

“I'll just… browse.”

“Okay, just shout if you need something. My name is Abby.”

“Uh… Peter.”

“Nice to meet you,” they smiled. “If you don't mind, I'm shelving some mysteries.” They squeezed past him and disappeared among the stacks again.

Peter shook his head. What were the odds, really?

Well, knowing his luck… pretty high, to be honest.

He took his time looking over the books, eventually coming up with one on gardening for May. He held it in his hand and squinted at the small cookbook collection.

The enchiladas Abby had made were just as good as the pasta - it had actually been enough to tempt him to cook the following evening. May had taught him the basics before he had moved out, but still, Peter's confidence with a stove didn't extend much past a grilled cheese.

It still tasted better than instant noodles, though.

Maybe there were a few simple recipes he could try…

Peter picked up one of the thinner cookbooks and checked the price tag. $3? He could definitely do that.

Abby was up behind the desk when he found his way back out of the maze. “All set?” they asked.

“Yeah, just these two,” he said, setting the books down on the counter.

They scanned them in quickly, smiling at the cookbook. “Oh, this is a great one for beginners. I flipped through it when it came in - lots of simple and classic recipes.”

“Glad to hear it,” Peter said. “I'm trying to start cooking a little more.”

“That's awesome,” they grinned. “Cooking's fun, especially if you can trick your friends into doing the dishes afterwards.”

Peter laughed, paid for the books, and was soon out the door again. “Well,” he muttered to himself as he put the books into his backpack. “Maybe now I can return the favor.”

* * *

**TO: Em**

okay two important observations today from work

**TO: Abby**

??

**TO: Em**

1 - a lady came in with her dog and it was named Shakespeare. She bought that book of Outhouse Poetry I told you about

**TO: Abby  
** Omg

**TO: Em**

2 - a guy came in and bought a book on gardening and a cookbook. STRONG twunk vibes. And he seemed familiar but I know I would have remembered him if he came in before so???? where is this mystery twunk from??????

**TO: Em**

oh wait maybe he's my opposite half??? 

**TO: Abby**

I thought I was your other half

**TO: Em**

You are my platonic soulmate and nothing will ever change that <3 but like you know how I'm an afab futch??? maybe he's the amab twunk I could be in another life. Opposite half.

**TO: Abby  
** Ooooooh. I get it.

**TO: Abby  
** Maybe?? Idk talk to him if he shows up again

**TO: Em  
** ofc

* * *

He waited a few extra days before returning to Abby's apartment. No need to tempt fate and have them figure out that Peter from the bookstore was also Spider-Man.

He knocked on the window, holding up the Tupperware container when they looked over.

“Hey Spidey,” they greeted as he crawled in. “How've you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, handing over the container. “What about you?”

“Fine,” they shrugged. “Entertaining my best friend with stories of people at work, which is always funny.”

_ Fuck.  _ “Oh yeah?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Mhm,” they nodded. “Let me put this away, and I'll tell you.”

Peter fretted for a few moments before Abby returned with their phone. “Okay, so, this is Shakespeare, he's a Pomeranian -”

A wave of relief washed over him as Abby showed him an entire album of various dogs that people had brought into the shop, ranging from the little fluffball that was Shakespeare to a regal-looking Rottweiler named Georgina, and including a wide variety of mutts. Peter's favorite was the 'corgi  _ something  _ mix’ named Britches because the markings on her fur looked like pants.

At least, Britches was his favorite until -

“Oh, you'll like this one,” Abby said, swiping over to a picture of a black lab holding out one paw to shake. It was wearing a red and blue tie-dyed bandana over it's collar. “His owner came in looking for some textbooks - she was going back to school to be a social worker. We didn't have the books she needed, but she stayed to chat for a while, and told me that her dog's name is Spidey.”

“That's - what?” Peter asked, a little bewildered.

Abby gave him a gentle smile. “You saved her son one night. He was hurt, but you made sure he lived. Apparently, when the therapist at the hospital recommended that they get a dog for emotional support, and to encourage the kid to get up and move around more, he insisted that the dog be named after his hero. His mom had absolutely no problems with that, obviously.”

Peter blinked, staring at the picture of the dog - of  _ Spidey _ . Of the dog who belonged to people who were so thankful to him that they had  _ named their dog after him _ .

He had saved a lot of people ever since becoming Spider-Man. He had lost a lot, too. He always fixated on the losses; somehow, he had never stopped to think about the fact that, because of him, there were people still alive, like that little boy, and that they were grateful to him for it. That they would actually think of him as their hero.

“I… wow,” he said softly after a long moment. “Uh, this might sound weird, but -”

“You want a copy of the picture?”

“No, I actually… if the mom comes in again, with her son, could you get a picture of all of them?” He shifted uncomfortably. “No, never mind, dumb idea, that's creepy -”

“Hey.” They put a hand on his arm. “It's fine. It's not creepy. They've become regulars - I'm sure they'd be thrilled to take a picture for you.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling from under the mask. “I just… it's easy to forget the people I've saved. I tend to…  _ dwell _ , instead.”

They seemed to understand. “I'll get a picture for you. And don't forget, you saved me, too.”

The simple reminder warmed something he hadn't known was cold. “Can I, uh, can I hug you?”

“Of course, dude, get in here.”

He wrapped his arms around them, a little surprise when they hugged him back tightly.

“You're a hero, Spidey,” they mumbled. “You've saved more people than you haven't, more than you even realize. Never forget that.”


	4. Night by Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhh trigger warning in this chapter probably. check the tags. I've been having a bad fucking week and this fic is helping way more than I ever thought it would

Peter had made it a point to show up at Abby's window at least once a week fairly quickly, if only to drop off the Tupperware container and exchange it for a new one full of food. But it was also just nice to have a friend.

( _ Peter _ had friends, of course, and Spidey could count a few other supers as friends, but, well, it was just nice having a friend who didn't expect him to do anything more than return their Tupperware, didn't want to talk about his progress with his degree or lack of a love life, and didn't smell like blood and gunpowder [it's definitely  _ not _ better than Old Spice,  _ Deadpool _ ])

The visits, after that first impromptu meeting, had all been very low-key and calm. So when Peter knocked on Abby's window in mid-February, he wasn't expecting them to all but throw open the window and start climbing out.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, scrambling out of the way. “Where's the fire?”

“I need,” they said through gritted teeth, “I need - I just -  _ fuck _ !”

Peter caught them before they could face-plant onto the fire escape. “Easy,” he cautioned, helping them regain their footing. “What do you need?”

“ _ Out _ ,” they said thickly, not meeting his gaze. “I just need  _ out _ of my apartment. I  _ know _ I won't sleep tonight. I never  _ fucking _ do.” They sucked in a harsh breath and finally looked up. “Please, Spidey. I need… I need to breathe.”

“Okay,” he said gently, giving them a once-over to determine if they were dressed warmly enough. “Hang on to me. I won't let you fall.”

After a few instructions, Abby was pressed against his back, holding tightly to his shoulders. Peter checked once more if they were ready before swinging away from the building.

It wasn't too far from their apartment to one of Peter's favorite all-night diners. After landing carefully on the roof, he asked what they wanted.

“I - what?”

“Like to drink?” he clarified. “Coffee, tea, hot chocolate - this place has good milkshakes, too, but it's kind of cold for that.”

Abby blinked at him. “Oh. Uh, how much is the hot chocolate?”

“I can -”

“ _ No _ ,” they said firmly. “I'm paying. For both of us. You drove - er, swung? - so I pay. That's an  _ old _ rule with my friends.”

Peter put up his hands in surrender, smiling under the mask. It was nice to know Abby considered them friends, too. “Okay, okay. Hot chocolate is about three bucks.”

Abby nodded, searching for their wallet and finally finding it in their sweatshirt pocket. They handed over a five and a handful of ones. “If this isn't enough, I'll pay you back.”

It was plenty for two hot chocolates, and when Peter returned, he handed over their cup and some change before sitting down next to them on the roof, leaning back against the ledge.

“So…” he said after several minutes of sitting in silence, watching the steam rise from his cup. “If you want to talk about anything, I'll listen and not judge.”

“Yeah,” Abby said heavily. “I… thanks.” They took a cautious sip of their drink and remained silent for another minute or so before finally spitting the words out in a rush. “IwassexuallyassaultedwhenIwasnineteen.”

Peter took a moment to sort through the tangle of syllables. “And… it was around this time of year?” he asked carefully.

Abby nodded, huddling deeper into their jacket. “I can't remember the exact date. But it doesn't matter. There's always a point in mid-February where my brain decides that today is the day we're gonna flip out over this again.” They held their cup closer, breathing in the steam. “What's super dumb is that it wasn't even this bad the first few years, when I was sort of repressing it and refused to admit to myself that it had been that bad.”

“It's not dumb,” he said quietly. “And repressing that sort of stuff can be even worse in the long run.”

“Yeah,” they sighed. “I guess.”

“Abby,” he said, shifting his cup to one hand so that he could put the other on their shoulder. “It's  _ not dumb _ . I… I was assaulted too, when I was a lot younger.”

“Oh, my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories -”

“It's okay,” he assured them. “It's taken a long time, but I can talk about it now. But I was messed up for  _ years _ . I still am, to a certain extent.” He shook his head. “It's not something that you can heal from overnight.”

They nodded silently and took another sip of hot chocolate.

“Do you want to talk about it, or not really?”

“Not - not really,” they said, huffing out a pained breath. “I've only ever told two people the details, and both times it was because if I didn't talk to someone, I was going to start hyperventilating. I had just realized what had happened, two years too late, and it was overwhelming.”

“That sounds awful,” he said, squeezing their shoulder.

“It was,” they said miserably. “I still can't get the words out to my best friend - it's like she's too close? I don't know. She wouldn't like, abandon me or think worse of me if I told her everything, I just have this mental block. The two people I did tell, they're my friends, but both of them are more removed, I guess. Em is… we've been living in each other's virtual pockets for years. We've been there for each other through all sorts of shit. I don't know why I can't get the full story out to her. It just… scares me for some reason.”

Peter shrugged. “Brains are weird. And don't make sense a lot of the time.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate, gathering his thoughts. “You're not alone, you know.”

“Yeah, I'm aware of the unfortunate numbers of people who are sexually assaulted,” they grimaced.

“Well, yeah, but I mean, like,” he gestured vaguely with his cup. “People who you think would never be a victim,  _ are _ victims.”

“Like you?”

“Beyond that,” he said. “Like, you've heard of Jessica Jones? The P.I. with super strength?”

“She was -?”

“Yeah. Don't tell anyone I told you, though, she probably doesn't want that spread around. And Hawkeye - not Barton, at least I haven't heard that he was, but the other one. Kate Bishop.”

Abby let the information sink in before speaking. “That… sort of does make me feel better. In a weird way.”

“It's one thing to know there are others out there, it's another to put a name to some of them,” he said. “I, uh, I could maybe get you in contact with them, if you want? Jessica can be kind of a dick sometimes, but Kate's nice.”

“I… no,” they said, though they were smiling as they did so. “Thank you, but no. I still can't quite believe I know Spider-Man, to be honest.”

Peter laughed a little. “I'm just a normal guy under the webs, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Abby said, shifting a little to lean against his side. “That's what makes you a good hero, I think. You don't forget what it's like to be normal.”

“Thanks,” he said, unsure where to take that statement. “I, uh, I try my best.”

Silence fell over the pair for a brief time, each caught up in their own thoughts. An idea occurred to Peter, but he had to wrestle with the thought for several moments before deciding,  _ fuck it _ . “You said you weren’t going to sleep tonight.”

“Yeah…?”

“Uh, stop me if I’m wrong, but you seem to really like cooking? So, if you want, we can get some ingredients and go back to my place and you can teach me how to make something?”

Abby shifted enough so that they could look up at him. “Is this a ploy to get more free food?”

“We can do something else -!”

They snickered, cutting him off. “Chill, Spidey. That  _ does _ sound nice. And a lot warmer than sitting on a rooftop.” They stood up and held out a hand to him. “Let’s get going.”

Peter took the offered hand, though he didn’t need it in the slightest. “Great! What do you want to make? I, uh, I don’t have much at my apartment.”

“Clean slate,” Abby nodded thoughtfully. “Do you have a skillet and a pot for spaghetti?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Aglio e olio it is,” they decided. “Since I already know you like that one.”

Peter grinned, quickly finishing the rest of his hot chocolate and pulling the bottom half of his mask back down. “Ready?”

Abby threw back the remainder of their hot chocolate as well and nodded. “To the closest place that sells garlic cloves!”


End file.
